Backwards
by SiwgrGalon
Summary: Ianto Jones has lost so much in his past, yet he has won so much, too - from his past, to his present. Bit of a weird thing to sum up, but it's got some sweet fluff and some good, dark, eating-habit (TRIGGER warning!) related angst and a good deal of romantic, soppy lines. Rated T because the s-word is mentioned! And Owen swears...


Title: Backwards

Author: SiwgrGalon

Wordcount: 2.957

Pairing: Jack Harkness / Ianto Jones

Rating: T, just to make sure, because I'm mentioning the s-word. Uhuuu.

Spoilers: maybe.. Cyberwoman. Nothing else.

**Disclaimer: **Torchwood and the Characters belong entirely to the BBC and Russell T. Davies and in no point to me. I do not intend to make money with this. No copyright infringement intended.  
The lyrics used in this story belong to the Donots – no copyright infringement intended, too. Same goes for making money with this.

_**TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of anorexia and generally eating disorders. No-one is really affected, but there are people who are triggered by the mention of it, so please, take care if this affects you!** _

**A/N: There we go. After a longer absence of writing, this came to my mind. I'm not even sure what it is, but it has a soggy bottom... eeh, slightly soppy end. (If you get that bad pun, I'll reward you with virtual cake. And THAT was a hint.) It's a bit ... weird and different from what I normally write, but there's fluff and some good angst in it, and I think you could like it! I've been carrying this idea around with me for a bit longer now and just had to act on it - I plan to have it in a bigger (and better written, maybe...) story, but for the moment, this was a little snippet that came to my mind, which is perfect to try if people actually would want to read it! So, have fun reading it! :)  
Oh, and just now - 150 pounds are roughly 67 kilos. Just so you know. ;)**

(Oh, and: English is not my first language, so if something is badly off, PLEASE let me know!)

* * *

Ianto Jones had always been a lanky, rather wirily built child with long arms and legs. A runner's body, his father had called it. Sadly, Ianto Jones hated running. Ianto had done lots of sports during school – his father had practically bullied him into rugby, football and all this stuff that required coordinating your feet and your hands when it also involved a ball. The boy didn't like it. There was something he liked, though… the "rich people"-sport, as his father liked to call it. Middle class, at least, not estate-worthy. However, he had let his son go on, hoping that the child would come to his senses and decide on doing something else. The contrary happened – young Ianto Jones, at the age of 11, became so enamoured that he spent days on end at his school's gym, trying to get his fitness up. He was still lanky, but his light build helped him enormously. Lanky, unpopular estate-kid Ianto Jones won his first gold medal aged 14, preceded by lots of bronzes and silvers. Sadly, it would not keep him from getting in with the wrong crowd.

Jack mulled over his lover's story while glancing at the calm water. Ianto had opened up to him after half a bottle of wine – it was ridiculous how quickly wine got him to talk – and Jack would probably never forget the way the young man had looked in that moment. Positively glowing with pride and joy and he had been… happy in a completely different way than usual. Of course, Jack had seen the medals, some of them at least, that night. Ianto had gotten up, slim-cut jeans accentuating his long limbs even more after the story he had just told. He had gone to his bedroom and returned mere minutes later, with a little box under his arm. It had been a lot of metal on colourful bands. Some photos. A little Quaich, a Scottish Friendship Cup, won in Glasgow. Ianto's voice had taken on a different tone, then, something Jack could not describe. How he talked about the friendships, about literally being in the same boat, about that one race that he never managed to even reach third place at, but which still taunted him. About that offer form Cardiff Boat Club and an old friend. What he remembered clearly was the way Ianto looked at him, saying those simple words.

"I want to start again."

Jack had had no other choice than to accept. The rift had been quiet for ages, so they agreed on shifting the young man's duties to shifts that were as fixed as possible, with a sole focus on the archives. Sometimes, he was even able to work from home after a particularly trying practice. That night, they had found their way to Ianto's bed and called in sick the next morning, to 'reconnect'. Surely both of them would never forget that night which had left them sore in all the right places.

The team had taken it remarkably well, for some odd reason. At first Jack had thought because of Lisa and the slight awkwardness that especially Gwen still had around Ianto. However, as things progressed, it had brought them all closer. Worrying about Ianto's health when said Welshman started losing weight had helped, Jack mused. Looking at Owen standing right to him, an arm around each of the girls, he knew that the doctor had felt the same. At the same time, it was good that they had spoken to Ianto. Jack vividly remembered holding the nearly fragile body close after a long, exhausting round of sex. It had never occurred to him how thin Ianto had been at that time until that night, when he discovered that it was close to being able to actually see bones.

Owen gave a sigh. Jack just raised his eyebrows questioningly.  
"I still remember that… talk we had."  
Owen cringed when thinking back to it. He certainly hadn't been on his best behaviour back then, waiting until Ianto was hidden away and then approaching him to once and for all talk about what was going on.

XxXxXxXx

Ianto didn't even need to turn around when he heard footsteps slowly approaching him and his workplace in the Archives. Furthermore, the young man didn't even need to look up

„Okay, stop it. Alright? I do not need your concern or advice and especially not your… your… mother-henning me. You're not my father!"  
„No, but I'm your doctor, and as such I feel obliged to save your sorry, skinny arse."  
„God, you're worse than Jack."  
„Well, can't help it if you're starving yourself, can I?"

Ianto turned around, staring incredulously at the medic.  
„Excuse me?! You… I… are you insane, Owen?"  
„Well, I could ask you the same, not-eating boy."  
The Welshman took a step forward, staring at Owen with a mixture of disgust and anger. In this moment, his emotions were clearly visible, written over his face like a poem, a shortstory, a report. Owen knew he'd hit a nerve.  
„I am not eating nothing. I am only watching my weight. There is no starvation involved, I am eating, I am drinking, so what is your bloody problem?"

„My bloody problem is that you take time away from field work, which wouldn't be a problem if you wouldn't come here, slimmer than I remember you and I haven't seen you eating today. Drinking lots of water, yes, but no solid food. So, tell me once again that you're eating properly. Because you're not, and I am not taking the risk of you trying to slowly off yourself in front of the team and your boss-come-boyfriend, because tea boy, that's not how it works."

„I am not. Starving. Myself. I am eating, thank you very much, and neither am I anorexic, nor bulimic, nor do I have any other kind of eating disorder. I am not trying to lose weight, or to kill myself or anything; there's healthy food in my fridge, I'm taking up enough fluids and if you'd raid my bathroom, you would not find cotton balls or anything that you could use to fill your stomach. You have got no clue what's going on here, you will never have a clue what's going on here and if you knew you would not be any happier. Hell, is there anything that I can do that no-one tries to talk me out of? You're worse than Jack, and God knows he was bad in the last three weeks. I might have lost weight, yes, and I'm trying to hold it at the moment, but that's everything there is."

„How much?"

„How much what."  
Everything about Ianto's body screamed defensiveness and unwillingness to share, from his folded arms to his firmly planted feet and the steely gleam in his eyes.

„How much do you weigh?"

„That is none of your business."  
With a defiant look, Ianto raised his chin a bit higher, trying to impose Owen just by playing out his full size. However, the medic was unfazed by this, fixing Ianto with his eyes and taking an overtly laboured, deep breath.

„I'll repeat the question once again. How much?"

Ianto gritted his teeth.  
„170 pounds."

„Try to tell that to your boyfriend. I'll ask you a last time, if you still don't answer me, I'll force you."

„Piss off, Owen."

„Last chance."

With an exasperated sigh, Ianto took a step back, carding his fingers through his hair.  
„About 150, maybe even less."

„This… you are insane. That is less than 70 kilos, Ianto."  
„I KNOW. That's how it should be. That's how I should be."  
„You are… well, not the tallest guy, but for god's sake, teaboy, Last time I checked you were at around 180 pounds. Whatever you're doing to yourself, whatever made you lose nearly 30 pounds, you're going to stop it. Now. Doctor's Orders."

That made Ianto snap. He had turned around to go, but the last sentence made him turn around abruptly. Owen, on - mostly, they were full of guilt and anger. Guilt, Owen guessed, because Ianto knew that Owen was right and that his behaviour was not healthy, and anger because he had just been told off like a child. It was a short staring battle before Ianto raised his voice. Without screaming at Owen, he still managed to appear like a force of nature, an icy note in his voice when he started to speak.  
„You've got no clue what's going on. You don't understand what this is for, what this means to me. This is my body, Owen, and I can do with it whatever I want, whenever I want, in whichever way I want and deem fit."  
With that, the Welshman fixed his supposed to be friend with another hard glare before he turned around and – rather quickly, Owen noticed – made his way from the Archives up into the main hope. To tell Jack, probably.

XxXxXxXx

When Owen had found out about Ianto's diet, after a lot of prodding, he had had to admit that it was healthier than he thought, if you ignored the fact that he wouldn't really eat on one day of the week – usually Fridays. Ianto started with 2000 calories per day at the weekend, slowly reducing those until he reached the no-food-day. Those days had the potential to be horrible, with the Welshman being a miserable git. All the talking didn't help, Ianto did not accept any offers of food or drink to get him back to a healthy, non-underweight status.

That all had changed one day. Ianto had announced that he was off his diet, for private reasons, and started eating normally again. Or, more normal than before. Jack had known what had happened but kept quiet about Ianto's lack of success when it came to fit in with the other guys. It was not his lover's fault, Jack reckoned, just the fact that he was talented enough as to not fear his place, while the other guys in the team had to fight for it - So they made Ianto's life hell, the taunting and nagging resulting in more than one breakdown in the safe place his bed and Jack's arms provided. Jack vividly remembered holding the shivering young man, all bones and muscle, while he silently cried his eyes out. It had been more than heart-breaking.

"So, how was he?"

Gwen sounded generally interested, her big eyes looking up at Jack. She had taken to Ianto, in a different way than Tosh or Owen, but there was a tentative and very fragile friendship blossoming. Jack blamed it on heritage.

"He was pacing and listening to music when I left."

Jack remembered. A nervous Ianto, pacing around in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie slightly too big to fit his frame, the raven hair and big headphones hidden under the extra-wide hood. He had actually looked his age, the Immortal thought. In general, Ianto looked so incredibly young since he lost the weight, his long limbs accentuating his height and naturally slim built. He was not as sturdy as the suits made him look – instead, he was light and swift, with full command of his body. Jack was immensely proud.

"He must be so nervous… it's probably better that you left, Jack. Let him be on his own. He's a grown man, he will survive."

Tosh gave him a tentative smile before she went back to watching the water. They could hear the faint sound of cheers and voices rising – they could hear them before they saw them, the cox shouting as if fighting for dear life. The team were standing – well, sitting, but they had abandoned that part in favour of seeing when the crews arrived - near the finish line, having a good overview of the last 250 metres of the course. The shouting got louder, with the occasional word being loud and articulate enough to be understood. Then, they came into view.

Cardiff was well in the lead, a comfortable three or four lengths between themselves and Oxford. That was what was so great about this regatta – the underdogs had proven to be rather promising, and the fact that a little Welsh club was currently winning over a high-quality, high-performance club was what made it even more special. Ianto was sitting in stroke, giving the rhythm and speed which his fellow oarsmen followed blindly. The coxswain was shouting, trying to get the men to give it all, to make them finish with a comfortable distance, a good time. It was balancing on a small brim, really, between a massive runner's high and a victory, a gold medal, and the athletes passing out or going oxygen dead on the last few metres. Still, they went for it. When the ranks came into view, an audience mixed between cheers and stunned silence, they gave all they had left, tanking it.

The team could hear Mike's commands as clearly as the rowers in their narrow boat, in case they still heard him, but with the opponent catching up, he had to think of something. Anything to keep his men going. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Show the world what you're made of."

Drive. Push on the legs – open the body – take in the arms – lean back – clean finish

Recovery. Arms away, bodies over, slow up the slide, Square your blade, last quarter with full control, aggressive catch.

Drive. Push on the legs – clean finish  
Recovery. Slow slide, early square, aggressive catch.

It was hypnotizing to watch the rowers, in their tight red lycra, moving as one – doing everything in time, following Ianto, the smallest and lightest one in their boat who was actually rowing. One unit, one team, followed by hundreds of eyes. If they were nervous, you didn't realize.

"Bloody hell, he's… sexy."  
Gwen whispered, her eyes fixed on her colleague. They all looked as if they were in pain, anticipating the finish line, just wanting to stop. Their crew was what kept them going – you always keep going, unless you pass out. There is no stopping during a race.

The commentator was stumbling over his words, trying to make up full sentences as he went along, but when Cardiff entered the last 100 metres, everyone – including him – went dead silent. They all counted down the last strokes, listening to the coxswain calling the last ten "really hard pushes".  
When they crossed the finish line, all hell broke loose. People jumped up around Team Torchwood, cheering and celebrating. They celebrated the underdog, yes, but at the same time they celebrated Oxford, who had just suffered a nasty defeat.

In the Welsh boat, as soon as they had crossed the finish line, the athletes had started to cheer, slapping the water before breaking down in complete exhaustion. Jack was amused when looking at his young lover who first hugged his coxswain, sitting right in front of him, before falling backwards in utter exhaustion. He wasn't holding on to his oar, his feet were out of the shoes and in the water of the river, his head cushioned in the lap of the guy behind him who had his arms slung around Ianto's chest. It was a picture of happiness, utter joy and deep friendship.

Jack slowly made his way to the exit. Tosh stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

Jack just smiled.  
"To congratulate our winner."

In six minutes and twenty-four seconds, Ianto Jones had managed to grow from secretary and butler to something entirely different. Jack didn't dare to think about the feelings of pride and joy blossoming in his heart, masking that small flame of _love _that grew bigger and bigger with each passing day. He loved Ianto, he realized, with all that came with it – the open hands, full of blisters, the sore muscles, his crappy moods on non-food-days, his fidgetiness before the race when Jack hadn't even been allowed to do so much as look at his lover. It all came with the package, with the other Ianto – the one that hid under suits, a perfectly groomed exterior and well-placed _Sir_s. Both sides made the package, Jack realized, and that's what was so different about this one lover – not only did he take Jack for whom he was, but he also stopped hiding himself in the very moment he asked Jack for permission to start rowing again.

Upon reaching the pontoons, Jack saw the eight men getting their medals. It was a great deal, apparently, and the mood was cheerful. As the defeated opponent arrived, the cox once again got his men's attention.

"Three cheers for Oxford! Hip hip"  
"Hooray!"  
"Hip Hip"  
"Hooray!"  
"Hip Hip"  
"Hooray!"

Oxford answered in kind. It might be a competitive environment, but they were still fair and devoted to good sportsmanship.

Somehow, Jack managed to get close to the boat and then lent Ianto a hand – before he even knew what happened, however, Ianto's arms were around his neck and the young man's lips were on Jacks, sealing them. It was slow and loving, and Jack thought he heard the click of cameras, but he couldn't care less.  
Here, in his arms, was the man he cared for the most in this world. The man who expressed everything he couldn't say in this kiss – gratitude, hope, love.

"Thank you, Jack."  
He whispered into his lover's ear. Then the adrenaline finally kicked in, the runner's high hitting Ianto square in the chest, and he gathered all his courage.

"I love you."

Jack just hugged him impossibly closer.

25-year-old Ianto Jones had lost so much in his young life, and at the same time won so much more.

* * *

**A/N: SO? What do you think? Did you like it? Did you not like it?  
I hope you did! If you want, you can leave a comment. :)**

**Also, "Backwards" related to the fact that, when you're rowing, you're facing backwards and therefore do not see what is behind you. Which applies to Ianto, somehow.  
**

**Sorry, I'll stop the confusion now. I hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think of it! That'd be much appreciated! :)  
**


End file.
